


Baby Gates and Deadbolts

by wishesonfallenstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Pre-Relationship, single parent struggles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:59:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8243717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishesonfallenstars/pseuds/wishesonfallenstars
Summary: He had planned to spend the day in the garden; it was meant to be a nice day, summer still going strong and he figured Roland would enjoy the baby paddling pool John had bought for his birthday. But no, turns out his little boy is doing his best to give him a god damn heart attack at thirty-five. So they’re walking around the hardware store at ten am on a Saturday morning, Robin filling the cart with even more baby proofing paraphernalia (half of which he’s not convinced is even necessary unless you don’t actually watch your child, but better safe than sorry. Marian would kill him), stopping every now and again to remove an item from Roland’s clearly inherited sticky fingers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Taken from a prompt I was sent by a couple of friends on tumblr.  
> “You crouched down to coo at my baby but I forgot to tell you their favourite thing to do is to play with people’s hair and now they won’t let go of you” Based of a pretty funny conversation I had with one of my cousins when her little boy learnt this terrifying (for her) and hilarious (for me) trick

Roland is barely crawling but the little bugger is already getting into everything. And it’s driving Robin mad. He’d baby proofed his whole damn house pretty much from bringing him home from the hospital, some dark cynical part of his mind whispering statistics and worse-case scenarios and _I can’t lose him too, not right after losing her,_ until he was at the hardware store buying everything google recommended for mobile babies before the boy was even mastering sitting up alone.

He had baby proofing down. He really did, he covered all sharp corners low to the ground, he made sure any and all plug sockets had those annoyingly fiddly little plastic shields, he put up baby gates on the stairs. He spent most nights he couldn’t sleep, not without Marian lying next to him, reading any and everything he could find online or in the library.

Evidently Roland has now reached the development stage of pulling himself up. Which is great, his little boy is advancing every day and Robin is so fucking proud of him. He’s also shitting himself a little bit because this morning he was treated to a tiny hand unceremoniously pulling one of his eyelids open and yanking him back into the land of the living to see his thirteen month old son clinging to the edge of his mattress, grinning his wide gap-toothed smile and babbling away now that daddy is awake too. After pulling the baby into bed with him, hoping to be able to coax the boy back to sleep for a few more hours (the sun isn’t even in the sky yet, Jesus Christ) Robin’s eyes snap open, this time of their own accord, and he looks down to where Roland is grabbing onto his feet mumbling away to himself.

He climbed out of the crib. He’s climbed out of the fucking crib and shit is that even a thing that actually happens? But it must be, it fucking must be because it is almost six am and Roland has somehow crawled from his room across the hall to Robin’s own. He thanks every God known (and unknown) to man that he’s formed a habit of locking the baby gate behind him no matter what and then descends into silent panic of just how in the hell his son managed it. He leaves both doors open just so, just in case the batteries in the monitor die in the night and he can’t hear if his son needs him. But still, he’s both terrified and impressed by his kid and he has the horrifying thought that a child with both his and Marian’s DNA is very likely to continue to cause heart palpitations with his little adventures.

* * *

He had planned to spend the day in the garden; it was meant to be a nice day, summer still going strong and he figured Roland would enjoy the baby paddling pool John had bought for his birthday. But no, turns out his little boy is doing his best to give him a god damn heart attack at thirty-five. So they’re walking around the hardware store at ten am on a Saturday morning, Robin filling the cart with even more baby proofing paraphernalia (half of which he’s not convinced is even necessary unless you don’t actually watch your child, but better safe than sorry. Marian would kill him), stopping every now and again to remove an item from Roland’s clearly inherited sticky fingers.

He’s currently debating exactly what he needs to buy in order to stop Roland from unlatching the side of his crib and making it easier to clamber out of, (the sight of the lowered panel this morning just reaffirming that while he may look like his mother, Roland is taking after him in plenty of ways) when a soft voice interrupts.

“Oh, I think that might be mine.”

Turning around, confused at the statement, Robin see a woman about his own age, basket awkwardly balanced on an elbow with a combination of products. There’s no one else in the aisle so he knows she’s talking to him but he can’t work out why, until he sees that she is smiling down at Roland. Who is gripping a packet of different batteries and looks delighted at the attention being given to him.

“Roland,” Robin sighs as he pries the set from pudgy fingers, pulls a face the quite clearly chewed on cardboard packaging and debates offering to find her a new one. But she just smiles, takes it from him and put it in her basket uncaring of the spit stained edges.

“Thank you,” she says, and Robin’s stomach may just drop a little bit when her voice is no longer slightly higher in pitch from talking to a baby.

“You’re welcome, sorry about that,” he gestures to Roland, pulls a dummy from the baby bag slung in the cart and hopes it’ll distract him long enough to get through the store without accidentally shoplifting something.

She laughs, bites at her lip and shakes her head, strands of dark hair falling down from the messy bun she’s thrown it in. “Don’t be, I remember the picking up everything they can reach stage rather vividly.”

He tries not to, but when she says that he catches himself glancing at her hands for a ring, feels odd when he finds himself oddly pleased that there isn’t one. Though that doesn't mean anything at all; he took of his a month ago and keeps it safe in his bedside. And knowing about what is probably a fairly common phase with children does not necessarily mean she has them herself. She looks to be a few years younger than him; she could have nieces or nephews, friends with kids. But then she smiles, blindingly bright, at his son when he screeches a nonsense word to get their attention again.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, we were ignoring you weren’t we?” she coos, and her voice once again adopts that slightly higher, softer pitch as she addresses Roland but still never once slips into baby talk that Robin has come to find he hates. Roland bangs his hand against the cart’s handle, looks intently up at her and makes another determined sound. Like he’s telling her something of the utmost importance. He can say a grand total of two words, _dada_ and a slightly butchered form of _banana_ , but he’s jabbering away to this woman who is making all the right agreeing sounds and listening as if it’s the most important thing she’s ever heard and Robin feels his knees weaken just so when she widens her eyes and asks “and then what happened?”

This woman is definitely a mother. She has to be.

He finds himself watching them, content, as Roland points as emphatically as a one year old can to where his stuffed monkey sits in the seat next to him. She’s not wearing any makeup, at least not that he can tell, is in dark skinny jeans, a soft looking top and a dark green blazer. There are purple smudges under her eyes and coloured ink stains on her fingers, not doubt from colouring with her own child, and Robin honestly thinks she’s stunning. Though how she is not sweltering from the heat, even in the air conditioning, he doesn’t know.

He’s so distracted by her that he doesn't realise she’s leant down a fraction to stop Roland from craning his neck up to see her until he’s already got a handful of the hair falling free of the bun and framing her face.

“Oh Christ,” he jumps forward to try and detangle her, cursing himself for not catching on quicker and warning her about Roland’s other favourite pastime; hair pulling. “Shit, here, um…”

“It’s fine; he’s not hurting me,” she says, flicks her eyes up to him in reassurance and begins to deftly untangle Roland’s little fingers from her hair. She keeps hold of his hands once she’s free, scrunches her nose up at him and presses a smacking kiss to his knuckles, laughs quietly at the shriek of pure joy the boy lets out. “Sorry,” she says as she straightens “shouldn’t have done that…”

“No, god no, it’s fine; I’m just sorry my child tried to rip your hair out.” He rubs the back of neck, shifts on his feet and wonders what the hells he’s meant to say next.

“It happens,” she says, “I probably should have known bet-”

“Mommy, I found it!” A blur of dark hair and plaid comes skidding down the aisle towards them and a boy of around five crashes into her side, arms wrapping around her waist as she reaches out to steady him wincing a little bit. His eyes widen as he catches the same look of pain that Robin had, “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry I… I didn’t…”

She quickly reaches out with one hand, cups his chin and strokes her thumb over his cheek in a practised gesture, “Honey, it’s fine. I’m ok,” she adds when he continues to look upset about bumping into her, “but maybe we don’t run in the store, yeah?”

“Okay,” he says, still frowning and looking uncertain. “Auntie Emma is getting a drill and said she’d find us in a bit.” He holds up a lock-change kit in one hand and deadbolt set in the other, “I got both kinds, Emma said we probably only needed one, but I wanted to make sure.”

The woman nods at her son, smile still in place but there is a tightness to it that wasn’t there before she saw his loot. “Okay, well put it in the basket and we can see if there’s anything else you want us to get, alright?”

“Okay,” he puts the packs into the basket and pulls out a bit of paper covered in a combination of childish and adult, though still messy, handwriting.

“What else is on this list of yours then?”

“Um, I think me and Emma got everything we wanted.” He frowns at the paper, brows furrowed as he mouths out a few words and scrunches his nose much in the same manner his mother had just done to Roland.

Roland is quite clearly eager to be involved the conversation again as he throws his Monkey to the floor between their cart and mother and son, “Bah!”

The woman laughs when Robin sighs again and crouches down to pick up his son’s toy, “Roland, we do not throw,” he says, aims for stern but he’s pretty sure it comes out more exasperated and amused, and hands the monkey back to him. Rolling his eyes when Roland squeaks out a “Ta,” around his dummy and smiles up at them all, dimples on full display like he knows how angelic they make him look. This kid will be the death of him, he’s positive.

He turns back to face the other two, gives Roland his hand to play with when he discards the toy and hopes it’ll keep him occupied for a little longer. The boy has shifted slightly to stand in front of his mother’s legs, like he’s protecting her all the while leaning back into her body and the hand she has around shoulders like he wants nothing more than to hide behind her.

“Henry, this is Roland and,” she pulls a face, “I’m sorry, I don’t actually know your name?”

Robin grins, sheepish because he normally would have introduced himself by now, especially when his kid has already chewed on her shopping and liberated hair follicles in her scalp, but he was a bit too enthralled by her. “Robin,” he says, nods when she says _Regina_ back and he offeres his hand to Henry, grinning wider when the boy’s eyes narrow before he shakes his hand. He’s a got a solid handshake for a little boy, but he’s clearly trying to emulate something he’s seen people do; stares up at Robin like he’s sizing him up and his small fingers flex like he’s trying to squeeze firmly. So he makes sure to keep his body language loose, open and makes sure to keep eye contact. Whatever Henry sees must appease him because a tiny, barely there smile graces his features before his attention is grabbed by the boxes in Robin’s cart.

“What’re you getting?” He tilts his head, face creased as he tries to read all the words visible from where he stands.

“Henry,” Regina scolds and the boy looks chastised for all of five seconds before he’s looking to Robin for an answer.

“It’s fine,” he says to her before turning to Henry, “I am buying baby gates.”

"What’re they?”

“Well, Roland here is crawling and probably will be walking soon, and they’re to stop him from falling down stairs, or getting into rooms that could have things he might get hurt by when I’m not there.”

When Henry still looks unsure, his mum nudges his shoulder, “You’ve seen them before, sweetheart; Mary Margaret made David and Killian put them up for Neal, remember?”

The boy’s eyes widen in recognition and he looks to where Roland is studying the way in which he can make Robin’s fingers bend, “So it’s like… for making sure he’s safe, and protected?”

“Exactly,” Robin says, charmed by how eager the kid looks when his head rocks between his mother and Robin.

“That’s what I’m doing for my mommy!” He says, voice bright and oblivious to way Regina tenses behind him. “I’m the man of the house now, and me and Auntie Em are gonna-”

Regina cuts him off, “Henry, c’mon that’s enough; I’m sure Robin doesn’t want to hear about all that.”

He bites his lip, not wanting to intrude but there’s something about how Regina reacts to Henry saying that that sets alarm bells off in the back of his head, she’s tugging at the sleeves of her blazer, making sure they’re pulled down as far as they can be. And the way she flinched when Henry skidded into her side, how she seems to be favouring one leg slightly more than the other now that he’s looking at how she’s carrying herself and not how she interacts with his kid.

Henry is frowning up at her and she looks so uncomfortable that Robin finds himself nodding, “Well, that makes perfect sense, Henry. Completely understandable that you want to make sure everything’s secure at home; especially if you’re the man of the house now, you want to make sure everything safe for you and your mum. You know, I work for a security firm in the city,” he says as me makes a show of looking over the items in their basket, winks at Regina and becomes ridiculously pleased when she offers him a weak smile, “and from what I can see you have everything you two need, and more to do just that.”

“Really?” He asks, delighted.

“Absolutely,” he ducks slightly to see his eyes easier, “You’re doing a really good job, Henry.” When he stands up Regina’s eyes look glassy as she mouths _thank you_ and squeezes Henry’s shoulders.

“See? We have more than enough stuff.”

Roland takes that minute to huff, bored of bending Robin’s fingers back and forth now and getting fussy being in the cart’s seat, and he’s probably about ready for a nap; they’ve been up for hours now. But if Robin picks him up then he’ll cuddle in and fall asleep, and pushing the cart one handed to the cashier, and then to the car seems to be asking for trouble. He settles for rubbing his hand over Roland’s side, hushes him and offers the boy his monkey, which he does take but not without a deeply unimpressed pout that he’s not being picked up.

“We’re nearly done, buddy,” he shushes him, thanking everything he can think of when Roland merely whimpers and buries his face into the fur of his toy.

Regina is watching them when he looks away from where Roland is cuddling down into grey fluff, and she goes to say something when a blonde woman appears at the end of the aisle, what looks to be a drill set in her hands and red metal tool box, “Hey, we about done here?”

Henry’s attention is immediately on her and skips forward to check the items in her arms, “Mommy says we have everything, and that’s Robin, he works in security, Emma, and he says so too!”

Emma gives him a once over, eyes hovering over the sleepy baby and to where Regina is standing examining her own items, ignoring her completely. She raises an eyebrow at her back, smirks at Robin before looking down at Henry again, “Really? Well that’s good, kiddo! how’s about we take all our bits to the till and pay, and let mom finish up here?” The last bit she aims at where Regina is now staring wide eyed at her, shit eating grin directed towards them both. “I’ll take that, Regina, meet you by the door?” Emma snatches the basket and walks away hand in hand with Henry, listening intently to whatever is making the kid run over his words.

“I’m sorry, about her. About Emma,” Regina rambles, twists her hands together and shifts on her feet like she’s nervous and he can’t help but think it’s endearing. “She, uh,” she laughs, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear “she likes to think she’s helping. Honestly I think she just likes watching me squirm.”

“She seems like a good friend,” he says, thinking of the fierce look in her eyes when she’d seen them standing together. Like she was daring him to do something.

“The best, even if she is worse than my five year old and takes far too much pleasure in meddling in my life.”

He thinks of John, of Will and Mulan and how they’d sat with him when he drunk himself stupid after the doctors told them Marian would be lucky to make it to full term, and advised them to terminate. Remembers the defiant look in his wife’s eyes when she’d told the doctor to screw himself if he thought her life was worth more than their child’s and how she’d enlisted his friends help to make sure he kept living should the worst happen to her. How they did just that when Roland came into the world far too early and Marian left all too soon. “They’re the best type of friends to have.”

She gives him a knowing look and nods. “I suppose,” hesitating she opens her mouth to say something else but Roland chooses that moment to remind them he is still there, and still unimpressed at the world with a whine verging on a cry. “We’re ignoring you again, aren’t we sweetie?” He turns his huge, watery brown eyes towards her and whimpers again. “You should get him home,” she says softly.

“I should,” he agrees but neither of them move. Another cry from Roland snaps him into action and he’s digging out a business card and passing it to her. “If you need any help with the ah, _security measures_ Henry’s undertaking.” He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, that he hopes they’re unnecessary, that she’s playing along to keep her boy happy, that whoever they’re trying to keep out is far, far away from them but he knows she can see it on his face. She takes the card, runs her thumb over the words and numbers printed on it and slides it into her purse, careful not to crease it.

“Thank you,” Regina smiles at him again, muted but still heartfelt, “It was really nice to meet you, Robin.” Then she reaches forward to scratch her finger over Roland’s tummy, smiles a little brighter when he perks up for a second and babbles at her, “It was even nicer meeting you, Roland,” she gives him one last tickle, quirks her fingers in a wave to Robin and heads to find her son and friend.

Robin looks down to see Roland staring up at him, eyes wide and confused, wondering where the pretty lady who talked to him has gone, “I know m’boy, we’re in a bit of trouble there, aren’t we?” He takes the sharp squeak of displeasure as an agreement and finishes getting what he needs before making his way out of the store.

* * *

 

He’s packing up the car when he sees her again, in the passenger seat of a bright yellow bug, Henry in the back and Emma driving. She appears to be laughing as Emma and her boy sing loudly to the music he can hear as they drive past. She catches his eye when she turns away to look out the window, quirks an eyebrow and raises her hand in one last goodbye.

As he’s pulling out of his spot, Roland now dozing in his car seat he thinks of Marian again. Of her telling him as her pregnancy advanced and her health declined that she didn’t want him to hold onto her forever, that she wanted him to move on, and live, and be happy. He can’t help but hope that Regina does call, but for now he hopes Roland stays asleep long enough to put the final touches to his baby proofed house.


	2. Panic Attacks and Heartbeats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She still has no clue what she is doing, she's about to turn twenty-six, married to a man she hates but is too scared to leave. But none of that seems to matter anymore, not since that solid, rapid little beating filled the room, filled her own heart, and became the only thing that mattered in the whole God damn world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So because so many people wanted me to continue this 'meet cute' story, I have decided to turn it into a verse. Each chapter will be a new insight into their lives before meeting, right after meeting, and in the future. As such it'll be told out-of-order and each chapter will potentially have it's own list of **_trigger warnings_** listed at the top. PLEASE READ THEM. Rating has been changed due to new context, and probably will again.
> 
>  **Trigger Warnings:** Marital rape, domestic abuse, mentions of abortion, past miscarriage.

She's been feeling off for weeks now. The tiredness is the first thing she notices; it takes everything she has to drag herself out of a bed she has struggled to sleep in for nearly eight years. It's like she is permanently drained, no matter how much sleep she manages to get. Her appetite has dwindled to all but nothing, but that comes and goes so often that Regina doesn't even blink at it anymore. The nausea kicked in just over a week ago. But she puts it down to stress to start with, tells herself over, and over, and over again that it's leftover stress from the holidays. From dealing with her Mother, from work, from being stuck married her husband. Honestly, her anxiety and stress levels have never been what one would call stable, least of all since she turned eighteen and found herself forced down an aisle in a white dress.

It takes her longer than it should to figure it out. And when it finally registers as a possibility, Regina damn near has a panic attack in the middle of the grocery store while holding a box of tampons that she honestly can't remember needing to use since before Christmas. She tells herself she's being stupid, that her birth control shot means she does get sporadic periods instead… but, she's sure she should have had one by now?

The neat stacks of pregnancy tests sit a few feet away from the brightly coloured tampon boxes and no matter how loud her head screams that she is not pregnant, not again, not by _him,_ by the time she's made it around the store - forgetting what is probably more than half of the things she needed when she walked in - her chest is still tight, breathing still hard and her hands have started shaking. She buys five tests when she comes to the end of her shopping and hides them inside a pair of her thigh high boots when she gets home- somewhere she knows Leo won't go looking - and vows to take them the next time she has the house to herself.

She doesn't end up taking them for another two days. Waits in a bubbling cocktail of panic and fear for Leo to leave for his week long 'business' trip to New York. The one good thing about it all is how terrible she is hiding how badly the whole thing is affecting her. Regina spends half her time in the bathroom, barely manages a bite of food before she's bolting to nearest toilet to bring it back up - something that makes Leo steer clear of her. He sleeps in the room he has set up next to his home office, one he normally only uses when he works late, or _doesn't have the frame of mind to put up with you right now, Regina._

But he hasn't come near her, hasn't touched her since she started throwing up the other day, convinced that she's caught some type of illness, and even though she is constantly crouched over the toilet bowl, shaking and choking, she's thankful. Because at least he isn't touching her, and at least she has a respite from chewing at the insides of her cheeks and fighting back tears until he's finished with her. At least he isn't close enough to take out his frustrations on her right now.

He leaves on Wednesday night, tells her he hopes she has fixed herself up by the time he gets home next week, and slams the door behind him, making her flinch. It takes her until the next afternoon to even dig the tests out of her hiding place, let alone take the damn things. By the time she talks herself into at least opening the boxes she's been sitting cross-legged at the foot of her bed staring at the five, innocent looking boxes for over an hour.

She has a two litre bottle of water that she's working her way through, because the idea of taking one at a time, of having to wait who knows how long until she needs the bathroom again between each one sends her anxiety level spiking. So Regina drinks as much as she can physically handle and resolves to place them all face down on the bathroom counter so she only has to look at them all once.

It still takes her nearly an hour to actually take all of them, and it's another forty-five minutes before she looks and feels the bottom of her stomach fall out.

They're all positive.

All fucking five of them.

She's pregnant. Again. Probably close to the two month mark, or maybe a little past it. Which is exactly where she was at last time, in the middle of Boston Common with Emma when her world once again fell out from under her, Emma got her to the hospital but it was too late. Her little boy or girl was gone. So she started getting more effective birth control, one that she wouldn't forget to take before bed every night, because even at twenty she knew she couldn't go through that again; she barely got through it that time.

Regina's not sure she wants to risk going through it again.

She manages to dig her phone out of her jeans pocket, sends a text to Emma that probably makes little to no sense just before the undertow drags her down. She feels the room closing in on her, curls up into a ball in front of the tub, back against cold tile in a futile attempt to pull herself back. But panic has it's claws around her neck and is refusing to let go.

Black dances around the edges of her vision, and some small distant part of her makes her drop her head between her knees, sucks in deep lungfuls of air that don't make a fucking difference, if anything they leave her feeling worse. Regina is half aware that she is well on her way to hyperventilating and she _knows_ that it won't help her at all, but all she can think about is how the world just fell out from under her feet and she is spiralling down a rabbit hole. Because she has no idea what the hell she is going to do.

Regina has no fucking clue how she is meant to be strong enough to do this again. If she is strong enough to survive another miscarriage, if she is strong enough to love a baby that is half her, half Leo. Half of the man who married a terrified eighteen year old girl, who never once stopped all the times she cried that it hurt before learning to lie there until he was done. Half of the man that she hates with all her soul. The idea that she might hate her own child isn't something Regina thinks she will be able to deal with.

She has no idea how long she sits like this, barely breathing and bordering on hysterical, but it's how Emma finds her. Face tear-stained, tests scattered in front of her sock covered feet as she rocks back and forth with her hands ripping at her hair, on the verge of passing out.

"Shit." Regina isn't really aware that she's not alone anymore, barely registers Emma's presence even as she eases herself down to kneel in front of her. "Regina? Hey, hey look at me." Cool hands cup her face, gently press until her unfocused eyes take her in.

"Emma?"

Emma lets out a burst of air, smiles a shaky, wet smile, and nods. "Yeah, honey, it's me." One hand stays on her cheek, thumb brushing away tears as Emma's other hand goes up to ease the fingers tangled and tugging at her hair loose. Once they're free Regina flexes them a little (she hadn't realised she had been pulling so hard until she feels the sting of blood rushing back into her fingertips) before wrapping them around Emma's wrists. "Do you feel like getting up?"

When Regina shakes her head, another sob bubbling up behind bitten down lips, Emma nods at her, presses a kiss to her hairline, tangles their fingers together and squeezes, once, twice, before she moves back to sit next to her. "Ok, we'll just sit here until you do."

"Ok," she cries, head dropping to the side to rest on Emma's shoulder as she tries to get herself under control.

They sit there for who knows how long, both looking at the five little plus signs taunting them from the floor. By the time Regina manages to sort of get her breathing back to a normal rate, Emma is resting her head on top of hers and is stroking her thumb back and forth over Regina's knuckles.

"I don't know what to do," she says, breaking the silence. Her voice hoarse and barely there at all.

"You don't have to know what to do," Emma assures her equally as quiet. "You don't have to know a damn thing right now, Regina, and no one who cares about you would expect you to." It's a small dig at her mother and husband (it's not really all that subtle) but then again, Emma has never been one to keep her opinion of those two to herself.

"I don't think I can be a mother," she whispers.

At that Emma snorts. "Regina, you have been ready to be a mother since you were sixteen and had a million times more patience with my foster siblings than I did."

And she's kind of right, because back then, back with Daniel, she never doubted her want to have children, and she would volunteer to babysit for anyone who needed it. But then they were in a car crash that put her in a coma for three days, one that Daniel never woke up from, and everything she thought would be part of her future was ripped away in the thirty seconds it took for a drunk driver to swerve into their lane.

The last time, she wasn't sure she could do it, but she wanted to try, and she got to her thirteenth week before she was miscarrying in the park and cursing every God she doesn't believe in for taking someone else she loved away from her. She'd only been married to Leo for two years at that point, her life was miserable, but she still had slightly more freedom back then than she does now.

He had wanted her to go to college, wanted his trophy wife to have a degree, to be more than just a pretty face, but other than being on the committee for Katherine's charity and helping to organise the odd event, she doesn't do much. Now, he has almost complete control over everything: he supports her financially, and any time she brings up wanting to get a career, both he and her mother laugh, call her idealistic and ask _what more she could possibly want?_ The only thing she actually got her way was studying English Literature.

"H-how am I supposed to be a mother, a _good_ mother, to someone that is half _him_?" she says, finally voicing what has been sitting at the back of her head since standing in that aisle at the grocery store. She has no idea if she wants to do this, if she strong enough to do this, or if she will even feel anything but resentment considering she's never _really_ been a willing participant in her husband's bed. Bearing the burden of that resentment is the last thing she would ever want to put on any child she might have. Regina hates herself just for thinking it. Hates herself for entertaining the thought that she could feel anything but love towards her own child, but it's there, at the forefront of her mind and it is terrifying.

Emma wraps an arm around her shoulders and hugs her tighter to her side. "Whatever you want to do, is what we will do, ok?"

"We?"

At that Emma lets out an affronted sound. "You really think you are going through this without me? It's been us against the world since we were fifteen, Regina, I am not letting you do this alone." A squeeze emphasises her point. "No matter what you decide, I'll be there. Now," she says, shifts a little on the cold tile floor, "are we staying here a little longer?"

"No," Regina sniffs, rubs at her eyes and tilts her head back against the bath. "I can't stay in here forever, can I?"

"I mean, as much as I'd love to tell you can..."

* * *

Emma eventually gets her downstairs, sets her up on the sofa in the den, one of the only places in this fucking house that ever feels like her space, with a cup of tea and moves to pace the hallway after saying _I'm gonna take care of this, ok?_

"Hey," she says, gently drawing Regina's attention away from her no doubt now cold tea to where her friend is standing in the doorway. "I've made an appointment for you, alright?"

"He'll find out," she mutters.

Emma moves to curl up on the cushion next to her. "I won't let that happen. I've made you an anonymous consult with Planned Parenthood. Don't freak out," she adds when Regina stiffens. "it's not for that, it's just to get more information for you, you can go and ask anything you need to work out what _you_ want to do. Leo only has to know if you decide to keep it, but until then, he does _not_ need to find out anything, and this is the best way to make sure of that."

Regina nods, knows logically in her head that she will need to make a choice, one she isn't even a little bit sure she is going to be able to make, but if she's right about how far along she is, she needs to make it fast. "You're coming with me, right?"

Emma rolls her eyes, smile a little too forced, but Regina appreciates the effort she's going to. "Of course I'm coming with you," she says like it's the stupidest thing she's ever heard. "Look, it's tomorrow afternoon so right now, don't think about it. Don't think about anything until then, yeah?" When Regina gives a half-hearted nod ( _how the fuck is she meant to think about anything else?_ ), Emma's grins turns a little more natural, even more so when she manages to smile back at her. "Right, takeout?"

"Emma?" she calls out as Emma moves towards the door, swallows when she turns to look at her, head tilted slightly in question. "Thank you," she says, and she knows Emma can tell it's for more than just tonight.

She finds herself even more thankful when she gets rolled eyes and a scoff in return. "Yeah, yeah, you're paying for this, I hope you know that."

* * *

Regina barely sleeps: any time she does manage to doze off she finds herself jerking awake with her heart racing and stomach churning. She throws up six times throughout the night, takes one look at the omelette Emma's made them both and bolts back to bathroom again. Thanks every star that Emma gets rid of the food, probably by eating it all, before she steps foot back inside the kitchen.

Everything passes in a blur, the day seems to go by too quickly, and yet drags painfully slow, too. It takes Emma squeezing at her knee to stop her bouncing her leg long enough to realise it's her turn to go back with the doctor.

The doctor introduces herself, but there's been a ringing in Regina's ears since they left the house to make the drive here, and honestly, she is less than half aware of everything that is going on right now. She keeps trying to force herself to focus, but her hands haven't stopped shaking since her lack of breakfast, and she's been bursting into tears on and off since last night, so Emma takes the lead. Prompts her when the questions are about her medical history, and that of her husband, though when the doctor sees how unsteady she becomes whenever the father is mentioned ( _oh god, can she really have a child that is his?_ ) she eases off on those slightly.

Emma has to nudge her when it comes to the next part of the consult, has to call her name softly to bring her back to Earth and gestures to a small bathroom with a paper gown and a clear cup for her to pee in. They take a few vials of blood and get her weight and height measurements too.

And it all seems to happen in a haze, but then she's on an exam table, with a towel covering her lower half, and the gown hiked part way up her torso as she keeps her eyes on the ceiling. She holds Emma's hand in a vice grip while the doctor says something about cold before spreading a layer of gel below her navel. Her doctor sits down before she starts to drift the probe over her skin and fiddles with the small screen to work out how far along she is and tells her what options are available. It's uncomfortable, and she is probably more tense than she needs to be, but she cannot make herself relax for anything, her breathing is far from steady and Emma is stroking at her hair and whispering about her latest bailbonds case to distract her.

It works for a little while too, until she sees a flicker as the screen comes to life with a black and white image and her universe narrows down to one tiny, life-changing sound. A rabbit-fast _thump-thump-thump-thump_ that steals any breath she had left in her lungs and causes the tears filling her eyes to overflow.

The heartbeat is so fast, and so _strong_ , and she really is pregnant. The realisation that she has a tiny human, no more than a foetus right now, growing inside of her hits Regina like a ton of bricks. She starts sobbing again, silently while her eyes stay locked on the screen and Emma whispers _wow_ beside her.

That's her baby. _Hers_. And she still has no clue what she is doing, she's about to turn twenty-six, married to a man she hates but is too scared to leave, and she has never had a remotely positive maternal role model to get the slightest clue about how to raise a child. But none of that seems to matter anymore, not since that solid, rapid little beating filled the room, filled her own heart, and became the only thing that mattered in the whole God damn world.

She's going to be a mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. if you head over to my tumblr my friend made some fanart for this part. And it's awesome, because she did it in about 15 minutes.


	3. New Locks and Garden Chairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she’s sure Emma has Henry occupied Regina gets up and moves to where her handbag sits on the table by the front door, digs through it until she finds a slightly creased business card and her cell phone, dialing before she can talk herself out of it.
> 
> “Hello?”
> 
> “H-hi, um it’s Regina,” she trips over her words for a second before clearing her throat. “I don’t suppose you’re still willing to help with my son’s security measures?”

Henry oversees the new locks being fitted to their front door. He insists on checking her’s and Emma’s handiwork: Regina bites down on her smile as he stares at it with narrowed eyes, and a far too serious frown for any five year old to wear. Emma doesn’t even manage to do that so she just covers her grin with her hand and stands there with her shoulders shaking as she laughs silently.

“Sweetheart, I’m sure the new locks are perfect,” Regina says, attempting to draw his attention away from the door. Henry purses his lips at her before turning back to the door, his toy toolbox at his feet, a bright red and yellow plastic Philips screwdriver - courtesy of Emma so he could ‘help’ - in his fist as he pokes at the newly installed deadbolt.

“I’m checking it works, mommy,” he explains. “That’s what you hafta do.”

“Kid, I gotta say I think your mom and I might have nailed this whole lock fitting business.” Emma finally stops laughing long enough to squat down next to him, her own eyes narrowed as she also looks over the new locks, deadbolt, and security chain. “ _Nobody_ is getting through that door, squirt.”

Henry turns away from the door to frown at Emma, before his eyes flick between where she’s knelt in front of him, the shiny new locks fitted to Regina’s front door, and Regina. She recognises the fear in his eyes and she swears she can feel her heart crack. Emma must too because she moves to stand, mumbling about throwing away all the empty packets, before she’s scooping up the trash and making her exit towards the back of the house, leaving Regina to try and convince her little boy that the monster from his nightmares can’t find him anymore.

“Baby, those locks all look amazing.” When he still looks hesitant, Regina moves to sit on the bottom step of their stairs, pulling Henry onto her lap when he follows. “Okay, I know that you’re worried, and I know that you’re scared -”

Henry pulls a face. “I’m not scared! I’m a big boy now, mommy - only babies get scared.”

Regina chews at the inside of her cheek and decides to change tactics; he’s her son after all - arguing never gets her anywhere. “I am,” she says instead. She tries not to cringe at the speed with which Henry’s head whips around to stare up at her.

“Really?”

“Yes, Henry.”

“But…” He tilts his head as he looks at her, the same way he would do as a baby when confronted with something new. “But… you’re a grown up! Grown ups don’t get scared of anything!”

“Oh, honey, I can promise you that isn’t true.” She hugs him a little tighter, presses a kiss to his temple, and rests her head on top of his when he snuggles down into her. “I get scared all the time.” Henry still looks like he doesn’t believe her so she narrows her eyes, ducks down a little like she has a secret and adds, “Want to know something? Even Auntie Emma gets scared! And I bet you _anything_ that Uncle David does too.” She presses a kiss to his cheek and strokes back his hair, wishing more than anything that she’d been a stronger mother, that she’d been able to protect him better. “Baby, being frightened of something isn’t a bad thing.”

“But you always call me brave.”

If her heart cracked before, it split in two at Henry’s murmured words. “I know. Henry, being scared of something doesn’t mean you stop being brave. You are, and always will be, the _bravest_ man I know.” She kisses his hairline again and rubs her hand up and down his spine. “You wanna go and see how Emma’s doing in the kitchen?”

Henry nods, leans back to press a kiss to her cheek and darts off down the hall to their tiny kitchen. When she’s sure Emma has him occupied Regina gets up and moves to where her handbag sits on the table by the front door, digs through it until she finds a slightly creased business card and her cell phone, dialing before she can talk herself out of it.

“Hello?”

“H-hi, um it’s Regina,” she trips over her words for a second before clearing her throat. “I don’t suppose you’re still willing to help with my son’s security measures?”

 

* * *

 

“Hi.” Regina smiles, awkward and still a little unsure about any of this, when she opens each lock and pulls the front door open to show Robin standing on her welcome mat, with a half-asleep Roland in one arm and a baby bag over the other. “Thank you for… well for what I’m sure is a relatively odd request.”

“It’s fine,” Robin laughs as he steps through the doorway. “Hey,” he says when she opens her mouth to apologise again. “I wouldn’t have offered in the first place if I wasn’t happy to do it.”

“I know,” she says, and she does, she gets that him giving her his number only happened because he wanted her to call. At least on some level. “But it’s not every day that you get invited to a complete stranger's house to help make her son feel safe with the amount of locks he’s insisted on putting on every single door.”

Robin grins at her, shifts a dozing Roland into a different position and says, “I mean it kinda is… I do do stuff like this for a living. Besides,” the smiles widens as he tilts his head to where his son is blinking himself awake against his shoulder. “You have Roland’s seal of approval - we’re hardly complete strangers after that.” Roland perks up when he hears his name and lifts his head a little to stare at Regina, head tilted as he stares at her for a moment trying to work out if he knows her before he squeaks and flails a chubby fist at her in a wave. “See?”

“I do see.” Regina waves back to him, smiling at the happy shriek he lets out. “Henry’s out back with Emma.” She gestures for him to follow her down the hall, through her tiny kitchen that her son and best friend happily destroyed while baking cookies earlier, to the open back door.

Emma and Henry seem to be busy having a fierce battle around the small wooden climbing frame that his uncles had set up the second they moved in; they both have foam swords and seem to be defending themselves from some imagined foe. “Do you two think you can take a break from protecting the castle to say hello?” she calls from the deck.

“Mommy!” Henry immediately throws his weapon to the side, before swinging himself down like a monkey, completely oblivious to the way her heart seizes every damn time he does that. He skips over and pastes himself to her side to stare up at Robin.

“Do you remember Robin, honey? From the store the other day?”

“Uh-huh.” He nods up at her before turning back to Robin and Roland. “Why are you here?”

“Henry…” Regina scolds, eyes rolling a little at how blunt he can be.

“Well,” Robin squats down to be eye level with him, something that Emma clearly notices and approves of based on the raised eyebrows and smirk she’s sending Regina from over his head. “Do you remember what my job is?”

“Yeah, you work in um, se-secur… you keep people safe,” Henry says, stumbling over the word security before he smiles a tiny half-smile and moves to stand not quite so close to Regina as he grows more comfortable with Robin’s presence.

“I do, and your mum thought that maybe you could show me what you’ve done to protect the house, and if it’s alright with you that maybe I could let you know if anything else needs to be done?”

Henry frowns at him, chews on his bottom lip, and tilts his head to the side like he’s sizing Robin up before he looks back to where Regina stands smiling down at him. He throws a quick glance at Emma before turning back to Robin and nodding. “We gotta make sure that no one can get in, okay?”

“Of course,” Robin agrees. “How about this, we’ll see if your mum is alright holding onto Roland for a bit, and then you can show me what you’ve done so far. Sound good?” He glances up at her, double checking she doesn’t mind keeping an eye on his boy while he helps make hers feel more comfortable in his own home.

When Henry nods Regina steps forward to take a now wide awake and wriggling Roland from his father. “We’ll just hang out out here with Emma, shall we Roland?” She pitches her voice a little higher, grinning when Roland shrieks and bounces on her hip. “Can I get you a drink or anything, Robin?”

“No, I’m fine thanks,” he says as Roland squeaks at them from her arms. “Roland however has some juice and some other bits to keep him occupied in his bag.” He nods towards where the baby bag rests on one of the rickety patio chairs on her tiny deck (that’s only standing because David took one look at it when she moved in and insisted on fixing it).

“Perfect,” she says, shifting Roland up a little more and sitting down as Emma throws herself down, ungraceful as ever, into the chair next to hers much to his amusement. “Emma is pretty much the same mental age as him anyway - I’m sure they’ll get along fine.”

“Hey!” Emma glares at her. “I will have you know that I am a _responsible_ adult. Henry, tell your mom what we did the last time I babysat you!”

“We had ice cream for dinner and turned the couch into a trampoline!”

Emma gasps, clutches a hand to her heart and stares at Henry in mock disbelief. “I let you have Ben and Jerry’s for your dinner, and you _betray_ me? I thought that was just between us, kid!”

Henry giggles, bounces in place, before he’s turning to Regina to say “She gave me ten bucks to keep my mouth shut too!”

“Yeah, and that is ten dollars that you should _so_ give back now,” Emma says, glaring at Henry but no longer able to hide her smile.

Henry pokes his tongue out before reaching up to grab Robin’s hand and drag him back towards the house. “C’mon Robin, I’ll show you the new locks!”

“Your kid is a brat,” Emma says once they’re inside.

“So are you.” She’s known that Emma lets her son have ice cream for dinner for well over a year now. She has zero sympathy for her - as long as Henry is with his godmother mid sugar rush and during the crash, Regina is happy to pretend she’s none the wiser if it puts an altogether too rare smile on her little boy’s face.

“Rude!”

Rolling her eyes Regina shifts Roland around on her lap so that he’s facing her as she leans back into to the chair and pulls a face at the baby, grinning when he lets out a delighted shriek.

Emma shifts about in her seat, lowering the back as far as it’ll let her - the not-quite-rusty hinges creaking in outrage - untucks a pair of aviators from the neckline of her top before using them to point towards the house. “He’s kinda hot.”

“Seriously?” Regina resists the urge to punch her friend, focussing instead on where Roland is babbling away to himself, twisting and turning his head to take in every inch of her pathetic excuse of a yard. Emma just waggles her eyebrows at her before shoving the glasses on and kicking her legs out, melting back into the second-hand garden furniture like she’s lounging on a beach at a five star hotel rather than her best friend’s backyard in Queens. “And what would Guyliner say about that, I wonder?”

“ _Killian_ has eyes. I’m sure he’d agree with me,” Emma says, smug as anything. Regina ignores the look Emma is no doubt giving her from behind the mirrored lenses. She still glances through her back door, to where she can just about see Robin knelt in front of the Fort Knox that her front door has been turned into, while her son stands next to him eagerly pointing at each addition to the original flimsy security chain and latch.

“Emma is silly, isn’t she Roland?”

“Emma is right, Roland,” she argues. Rolling her eyes Regina turns her attention back to the adorable little boy on her lap and starts to bounce her knee - something the baby clearly enjoys judging by the happy shriek he lets out before dissolving into a string of giggles as he claps his chubby hands together. “Alright fine, ignore me, we’ll just pretend you don’t get all flustered when you see a _fine_ specimen interacting with your kid.” Emma grins at her, that annoying shit-eating one she perfected in her teens and never grew out of. “And at least you know he makes cute babies.”

“He’s here for Henry,” Regina mutters.

“Uh huh, and I’m _sure_ he’d’ve made that offer had he not been a little smitten with you in the first place.”

“Emma,” Regina sighs out, eyes refusing to glance up to where she can hear her son’s rambling getting louder and a soft chuckling that must be Robin as they move down her narrow hall to the back door.

“You’re allowed to be happy again, Regina,” Emma says. “He’s not here anymore, and he never will be if he knows what’s good for him. You are allowed to notice a good looking, _kind_ man who is going out of his way to make your kid feel safe in his home.” She reaches over to tangle their fingers together for a moment, squeezes them once, twice, before tickling Roland’s little belly and letting him grab her hand and inspect her rings. “You don’t have to do anything, you never will, but you’re allowed to notice.”

Emma shifts forwards in her chair when the boys become visible at the back door, calls out a teasing comment to Henry that Regina doesn’t quite hear, before she blows a raspberry on his chubby cheek, laughs when Roland squeals before she frees her hand, pats Regina’s thigh and leans back on her chair, head tilted to soak up the sun.

Regina digs out Roland’s juice, shifts him around to sit with his back against her chest as he holds his sippy cup in his tiny fists, and finds her eyes glued to the way Robin listens intently to everything Henry says, to way he softly points something out and rubs a hand across her boy’s bony shoulders and smiles at him every time Henry takes on a serious look and bends forward to inspect his and his aunt’s earlier handiwork.

Emma isn’t wrong: he is a good man. Handsome too. Not that she’ll ever tell her she was right.


	4. Black Ties and Incubators

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The love of his life is in a box.
> 
> Marian is gone, and it feels like a part of him is about to be turned to ash alongside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> triggers - talk about death during childbirth, vaguely but it's still there, and premature babies.

“Robin, c’mon mate.”

Robin blinks. Stares down at where his hands are fisted together resting on his knees, creasing his slacks—for the life of him he can’t work out why the creases bother him, but they do.

“Robin,” Will calls him again. “It’s time to go.” A warm, firm hand hand grips his shoulder, squeezes, and guides him to his feet.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror at the foot of their—his, it’s just his now—bed. He's wearing one of his nicer suits, one Marian had loved him in but Robin barely recognises himself. He’s a mere shadow of the man he was a month ago. He doubts he’ll ever be able to wear the damn thing again after today. His skin already feels itchy.

“Hey,” Mulan steps between him and the man in the mirror, forcing him to redirect his gaze to her.  “You can do this,” she tells him. He doesn’t believe her but he knows he has to try.

“Roland,” he whispers.

“Ruby is with him.” She links her arm through his, turns him away from the mirror and herds him towards the door while Will follows. “She’s gonna stay with him until you can be there. Okay?”

He nods, only half aware of the conversation as he tries to keep his hands from shaking, tries to keep his breathing even. Tries not to think about cremating his wife.

Mulan doesn’t let go of his hand for the whole ride to the crematorium. John and Will are pillars of much needed strength beside them as they walk past a blur of faces dressed in black, but the only thing that keeps his legs from collapsing is Mulan’s hand in his, squeezing every few minutes like she is reminding him that they’re there.

People keep coming up to him. They keep patting his shoulders, or kissing his cheeks, and telling him how sorry they are for his loss. Most of them are crying already, but Robin doesn’t blink until his dad is pressing a kiss to the top of his head, squeezing his shoulder and sitting down behind him. The hand not clinging to Mulan’s shoots up to grip at his father’s before it can be removed, stays covering it even as his dad settles and readjusts so he has a firm grip on his son. Neither of them speak. But Robin knows his dad can tell how grateful he is that he’s here. He starts to cry when her coffin is carried in with Will and John at the front, tears trickling down their faces.

The love of his life is in a box.

And he will never get to hold her, get to see her smile, see her hold their boy—their tiny, perfect little boy who can’t even breathe on his own right now. Marian is gone, and it feels like a part of him is about to be turned to ash alongside her. If it weren't for Roland he thinks he would throw himself into the casket after her—he would gladly take the flames just to not be separated from her for the rest of his life.

The service feels like it's over before it even had the chance to begin. John reads her favourite poem—his voice cracking on every other word—and Robin manages to read half of the eulogy before Will is stepping in and reading it for him while he stares at the coffin. Robin barely has a chance to tear his eyes away from where Marian lies before Mulan is tugging him up and herding him back outside, past the flowers surrounded by mourners and into the waiting town car.

Then he's sitting on his couch—the one she picked out when they first moved in together in their twenties—an untouched glass of scotch in his hands while an endless parade of people in black tell him not to hesitate if he needs them.

_I need my fucking wife._

He needs Marian, and he needs Roland to be okay, and not to be hooked up to too many wires to count just to make it through another day. But instead Marian was ripped from the world, Roland is barely hanging on, and Robin isn't quite sure how the fuck he is meant to survive this.

He lasts an hour before he starts to feel the walls close in, his tie is too damn tight, and his skin itches with the need to get out, get out, get out. He bolts. Makes a break for the stairs and scrabbles for the perfect windsor knot at the base of his throat. He's crying, shaking hands still yanking at his tie, when his dad finds him, collapsed at the foot of their—his, not theirs—bed.

“Oh, my boy.” William crouches down in front of him, eases the knot away from Robin’s neck and helps him to get the damn thing off before he's yanking him into a hug, hushing him just like he did when Robin was six and had a nightmare.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Robin sobs into his father’s shoulder.

“No.” For some reason, his dad agreeing with him, refusing to tell him that it would be okay, that he would get through it is what slows the shaking of his hands. “It’s never supposed to happen.”

“How did you do it? When mum…”

His dad laughs, a half hearted, bitter thing, moves to sit beside him. “I still had you.”

“If anything happens to—”

“Oi, stop it. That little lad is a fighter.”

Robin sniffs, forces down another sob and says, “He’s so tiny, dad.”

“He _will_ get bigger.”

Shaking his head he scrubs a hand over his stubbled jaw, yanks at his already messy hair and tries not to throw up. “Marian was the strongest person I've ever met… and she couldn't stay with us. What if he can't either?”

“Right, up you get.” William stands up, pulling Robin to his feet as well. “Get changed. This is the last place you need to be,” he says as he moves to hang up Robins discarded suit jacket, returning from his closet with jeans and a hoodie. “Go.”

* * *

 

Mulan drives him to the hospital while his dad stays at the house to run interference. They sit in her car for ten minutes before he even finds the courage to get out of the sodding thing, and even then he doesn’t find himself able to let go of her hand.

The walk to the NICU takes a million years and every inch closer that he gets, it starts to feel like he’s breathing through a straw. Mulan squeezes his hand, whispers, _breathe Robin, keep breathing_ but how can he when his wife isn’t and son might stop at any moment? It’s a thought that has been rattling around, and around, and around his head for the last three weeks of his life. And it terrifies him more than anything ever has before.

How is he supposed to go on if the last thing he has left, his boy, is taken from him as well?

Robin can feel the panic circling him. Tugging at his clothes, trailing up the back of his neck and sending shivers down the length of his spine. He doubts that it will ever stop dogging his footsteps.

He’s only half aware of Mulan guiding him to clean his hands with sanitizer before they step through to the NICU entrance. She’s taken them the long way around—purposefully leading him in a circle, looping through multiple corridors so he doesn’t have to walk past the room where Marian left them. Her silent presence and muscle memory from all but living her over the last month helps to guide his feet blindly to the quiet walled off room where Roland sleeps in a plastic box, barely the size of Robin’s hand, with too fucking many wires attached to him.

He goes through the motions of making sure he’s as clean as he possibly can be before he’s even allowed near his baby. Ruby gets up as soon as she sees him, but she keeps her hand inside the incubator, Roland’s hand gripping at her little finger.

“His heartbeat has been steady all day, breathing is the same, but his lungs are getting stronger,” she whispers the standard report each of his friends greet him with whenever they convince him to leave the hospital for any amount of time. “He’s been fed, threw up half of it, but he kept it down the second time.” She smiles at him, extracts her finger, making soft shushing noises when Roland squeaks. “He’s done really well today, Robin.”

“Thank you,” he says, the words half formed sounds more than anything, but Ruby shakes her head.

“Anytime,” she answers before blowing a kiss to the baby and making her way through the four other incubators to leave him alone with the love of his life.

“Hello there,” he whispers as he takes up Ruby’s spot. He slides his hand in beside him, heart both breaking and swelling at the fact that his boy’s wrist is barely the width of Robin’s ring finger. He’s too small. But he’s bigger than he was a week ago. Than he was three weeks ago.

“Granddad’s right, isn’t he?” He strokes softly, softly, over Roland’s knuckles. “You’re a little fighter.”

The odds are still stacked against him, but as Roland twitches in his sleep and curls his fingers around Robin’s, he feels the weight that settled around his shoulders around the time he woke up and put his black suit on start to lift. It’s still there. But it’s not quite crushing him anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly this is the first thing i've written in months so idgaf about any typos in this, it was fun just to write again.


End file.
